


Transitory

by misbegotten



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-29
Updated: 2009-04-29
Packaged: 2018-04-19 13:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4748831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack has itchy feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transitory

Gwen is whistling as she flits about the Hub. A week on holiday, or at least a week being domestic with Rhys, has made her unbearable. Plus, Jack is getting itchy feet.

"We need a vacation," Jack announces. His (itchy) feet are propped on the desk, smudging mud onto the edge of a logistics report. Ianto taps one boot with a forefinger and Jack obligingly raises it enough for Ianto to retrieve the paperwork.

"Where would you suggest?" The idea is ridiculous. Even with backup from Martha and the cute corporal occasionally seconded to them by UNIT, Jack isn't going to leave Gwen to manage the Rift on her own.

"Barcelona?" Jack's eyebrows waggle suggestively.

"City or planet?" Ianto slides a half-empty cup of coffee away from Jack's thighs. Trouble waiting to happen, that.

Jack steeples his fingers behind his head and leans further back into the already teetering chair. "Ooh, there's a thought. I could get the Doc here and--"

"No," Ianto says firmly. He turns to file the report in a stack that Jack has purposefully removed from inside the filing cabinet so it can live on top of the cabinet. _It needs room to grow_ , Jack protested the last time Ianto threatened to abscond with the whole thing.

"Why not?" In anyone else it might be petulance, but Ianto is a skilled interpreter of Jack. This is "why don't _you_ want it?" not "why can't I?" Though whether Jack already knows and just wants him to say it, Ianto still can't be sure.

Should Bunterian Virus be filed above or under Cybermat? Vertical filing was not meant to be done this way. "You and the Doctor will have centuries to gallivant around the universe."

It's not really an answer, but it really is because Jack has already slid out of his chair and across the floor to rest his chin on Ianto's shoulder. His arms are heavy, but a comfortable weight nonetheless, and their breathing synchs together so naturally that Ianto has to close his eyes for a second just to find himself. Gwen's noises have faded, as have Myfanwy's cries and the burble of the pool outside the office. It's just him tightly gripping a sheaf of paper that will have crumbled to dust long before Jack is born. And Jack's body enveloping him like nothing else matters except Ianto's pulse fluttering under Jack's thumb. Maybe it doesn't.

"Why don't we tell everyone we've gone to Barcelona and spend a week at my flat instead?" As the pile of file folders and memoranda topples sideways, Ianto turns his head and bites Jack's ear. Hard.

Jack's breath is warm across his cheek as he chuckles. "You know how much I love making memories."

He does. And Ianto is fine with that.


End file.
